Live from the Labyrinth
by Fey Halfkin
Summary: Livejournal challenges that would be a shame to forget. All are stand alone fics I hope will entertain and amuse you. Uploaded in order of the Challenge so I favor the later chapters myself.
1. Knock

Challenge #2

Title: **Knock**

Rating: G

* * *

Doors weren't for the King. He easily recalled the open archways his fey liege enjoyed: unannounced, unexpected strides through castle arches and maze turns. That set of memories triggered by the up-front view of the hedge walls that made the greener part of the labyrinth. Watching the ugly armored goblins patroling for any stupid prey that wandered in became beyond dull after such time. It was impossible to even talk with the childish fighters. The pot-like helmets didn't allow for him to even guess their words.

But when a longer, slender shadow even briefly passed behind the hedge openings, his spirit peaked. It never was the Goblin King. There was few words to explain how he, he no longer had a heart, could feel it race then break with disappointment.They were a few persistant travelers lucky enough to get this far in clothes that became stranger then the next. The oddest was the young human male in a skirt and sash(1).

He was too proud to admit he re-lived those moments. This day he was trying to recall every detail of the day he and his partner were at the Goblin King's party. Every song the goblins sung; each face; His Highness's graceful movements as he held the babe he'd taken. It was the sounds he had to struggle with. Even memory was fading now that his world was silent.

His partner, who was stationed at the door to his left, didn't appreciate what he still had. The grumbling, mumbling and complaints were blessedly silent to him now, but he had spent years with the man. Enough to easily guess exactly what the unrefined idiot would say. He didn't bother to more then glance in his direction anymore. Just long enough to confirm he too was still where their punishments held them.

Feeling the wooden door shift ever so slightly beneath/behind him. It was the only way to sense time. The rare and unpleasant days another gobin might clean the area weren't with any routine to track time.

Today he imagined the door's movement to be his own body. How he sat back to drink with the other Goblin King's guards as his disgraceful partner played with those riling the chickens up. Stone floor beneath him. Some of the wine on his clothes filled his nose wonderfully. The sense of his comrades touches as slaps and jabs mingled with their converstations.

The babe sleeping in the arms of the fey King as he gracefully moved about His throne room he watched off and on. It wouldn't have done for a chicken to be thrown in His face after all. But as long as the King was content there was nothing a guard needed to do besides keep him that way. He didn't notice the Goblin King move to lounge across His throne seat until he looked up from a funny story (what was the goblin's name?) being told to locate his liege. A panicked moment until he saw Him. The babe sleeping under the mismatched eyes looking at it. That trademark smirk softened a bit as the King surveyed his prize.

Tomorrow he might try and recall the day he met his partner.

Or perhaps the day they angered the Goblin King.

Maybe the first time a traveler knocked upon his door, making his entire head ring.

It was his life now. Left to remember as the unchanging world creeped by like the ugly armored goblins in the hedge maze. Finding some minor amusment in the partner's exasperated faces if he chanced to look.

Starring at the high hedges as if to find a long shadow gracing his sight. Wondering if the whim of the fey King might one day appear before a set of doors and let him see if his memory's imagine was correct.

* * *

1) a Scotsman

2) based on the Deaf Door Knocker


	2. Forgotten

Title: **Forgotten**  
Rating: PG

The Never After Challenge: We're all suckers for the happy ending, but from a realistic (and oh so depressing standpoint), more than half of all those supposed happy endings fail. For this one, instead of focusing on the happy ending, tell us about what comes after, specifically, The Break Up. Funny or sad, long, short, anything goes, as long as Sarah and Jareth are no longer together at the end.

* * *

Old age brought about aching joints, lack of energy, and pain. To have her very memories under suspect was enough to wound her heart. A cruel dream she couldn't wake up from. The nice part was most of the time she didn't remember.

Peter cared for her as much as he could. Couldn't read, do more then basic maths, but his sharp memory allowed him to watch over her. Her very own Peter Pan: of all her children he was the kindess. And like his namesake he often had the neighborhood latch-key kids in their house. So many faces she only knew in passing that she rarely worried if she couldn't recall a name. While many played in Peter's ever-changing playground in the backyard there were always a few keeping her company: gossiping of school, doing homework, reading stories.

There was one child who enjoyed sitting by her. She had forgotten his name, and too embarassed to ask the boy. Sometimes she called him by her second son's name for he had the same dark brown hair. And when he would leave, as they all did eventually, Peter would give her a smile she learned that meant she had been mistaken but he wasn't going to remind her.

A frustrating, sweet boy, her Peter.

* * *

_"All your fault I would mention."_

_"Of course. But I didn't think you'd be singing it to him. So what's the difference between Bunny Foo Foo bopping or chopping anyway? They had it coming!"(1)_

_Loud laughter looming over the smaller companion, who smirked upward, head tilted against a propped fist. The elder displaying his amusment with the open brashness of his rowdy kin. Having no fear about enjoying his minor prank on the youth._

_"Your lucky Mother loves you," the smooth tone said. Only his companion heard the unspoken words beneath. Broken. Hopeful. Curious. Dark humour his kin favored rather then open merriement. Rather then say anything he let his laughter die off to respect the sobering mood appearing. Watched as fingers began playing with a strand of hair in absentminded habit. _

* * *

It was relaxing to listen to Peter's playmates tell stories from the couchs, floor, coffee table or each other like an animal batch. They sprawled. One was snoozing despite the flow of conversation. And there was Peter, back to the tv, asking prompts for stories.

Why is the sky blue? 'Cause water was up there 'cause it rains and water is blue. Maybe like a fish tank?Blue is for boys, so all the angels must be boys too!

Their inventive ideas far more interesting then any nap she might have been planning earlier. She hadn't laughed so hard is such a long time as when they debated answers by making up stories. The older children usually used this silly time to finish their homework in peace at the kitchen table, although two took breaks to listen in now.

Only one story would stick in her mind.

While Peter and the rest were calming from the last set of story explanations one boy sitting at her chair arm sat up on his knees to tell her shyly that he had a story. "About why a baby is born with one hair color , then grows a different shade."

"Father told me that when I was born I arrived with a crown of almost white hair. So gold I was rivaled all his treasures. And when I could walk, talk and remember he showed me a likeness of my mother. He said I took one look at her and decided right then. Said I loved her just as he had. The next morning my hair was as dark as hers."

Sunglasses glared at the childish teasings and giggles as another child thought of a different reason babies somethings changed colors. He was dressed like an aspired punk: a jean jacket, solid sunglasses, slightly-too-large biker gloves, and long hair for a boy, which Peter enjoyed tostling ever chance he could.

Like he did then, crawling a short space and stretching out a long arm, to wave his hand on top of the boy's head. The boy bristled like a cat. Peter just grinned without shame. Then the next round of tall tales began.

She tried to smooth his hair afterwards. Lord knew it would give her an excuse to mother the seven year old a little: he surely needed it. But the boy drew back quickly from everyone, fleeing to the kitchen and would only watch from the barstool for the rest of the day. Peter, kind Peter, later talked with him as the rest of the troupe became engrossed with a scary B-rated movie they had. From her chair she could only see the boy. Peter was crouched down, she saw that much at the edge of the doorframe.

For a moment she worried that the boy had hurt himself somehow when she glimpsed a small trail of red on his face. Her son's hand wiped it away. His lack of panic assured her it was just her mind playing tricks again.

* * *

_"Summer fades. I can feel it."_

_"So serious I must have missed it. Was it lovely?"_

_"Beware how far you mock me, Changling, with that familiarity."_

_And a chilled blue and brown set of eyes spoke of how annoyed their owner was right then. It caused his companion to sigh, retreating from crowding his tempermental lord. Feeling his older years with a heavy weight._

_"I don't envy you. Counting the seasons like that must be a geas."_

_"A mortal's gift I fear. Father warned me she was selfish. That 'princess' had been rightful named, although I fail to see why nobility should be given a bitter reputation."_

_"...but you aren't mortal, my lord."_

* * *

Old age turned out to have a good point. She might 'suffer' from the times when she thought she was 17 years old again, babysitting Toby; or 35, when she raised a father-less son; or 37, when she married the love of her life. There were times she called Peter by her husband's name. One time she grew frantic when she couldn't find toddler Peter and had to be calmed with medicine before her heart got worse.

But an old mind that dwelled in the past shed the fragile illustion Jareth had placed on her.

Slowly re-discovering her life.

The adventure of the Underground, when she had won back her brother, was one of the first she recalled. All her friends: Ludo, Hoggles, and the rest. How she kept in touch with them through college. Thanks to the Goblin King she took a scholarly interest in mythology and their symbolisms when she dismissed her childish dream of being an actress.

Those years of secretly being drawn to Jareth. Elusive, complicated, fey Jareth and his unpredictable moods. She rarely dated. It was just hard not to compare them to a man like the Goblin King.

Two years in the 'real world' and disatisfied with -just dreaming- she had gotten herself in his world again. Had courted him? Made herself a challenge worthy of him. Yes, she was recalling those years. How she had felt his ungloved hands on her skin was one of those memories unknown outside Heaven. Loved him. Been charished by a man who offered her anything. Who happily bounced the babes he brought back from Above, her world, until she grew to longing for her own.

"_Your name is not your cast, Sarah. I can make you a princess but never a queen. Such a pity."_

Remembered her growning despair as she grew older while he remained the same. Felt something crack in her soul with each kidnapped babe taken from her arms, felt the gap between her and her love grow.

Only her stubborn nature believing the truth was better then fiction helped her endure re-living it a second time. And dear, sweet Peter, who tried to distract her tears with his tall tales. He sang, joked, rocked her, as she had done to him growing up. From what she did tell him of her happier Labyrinth 'dreams' he would embellish his own parts.

* * *

_The long fingers gloved in soft silk trailed against his face where the first thing he knew. A lacy sleeve end moved against his skin. Both glove and sleeve settled on his chest as the terrible cries, "MONSTER! DEVILS!", started to recede. Smelled the wild magic and night air that clung to the clothes that kept him warm. Knew the voice above him without opening his eyes, but listening._

_"Helter-skelter, a pity and a sin." A sigh. The light mocking tone gone. "It is as it is. You will not take the blame of her own risky foolishness, my son. A dream. For what she's given me is worth reverance."_

_Later he would understand._

_"There are no halfs! You are one or the other, and the human mother is either overly protective or reject their fey child." The blue and green mismatch eyes looked into blue and brown: one so like his mother. "If you love her as I do you will let her forget you entirely."_

_It was the only time, and being so young it was allowed, he shed tears in sorrow about his mother. Who couldn't marry a King. Who wouldn't even miss him: he'd never existed to her. His kingly father lay an arm across his three year old shoulder in comfort: his other hand rested on his lap, twirling four crystal balls all showing Her image. Deliberatly didn't notice bloody tears trickle down as his young eyes locked on the crystals while time stood still._

* * *

She was so close to remembering something. Something about her son, her Peter, who was currently fetching a drink of water. It was maddening to know Jareth had so violated her trust by simple messing with her mind. Nobody, not even a King, had that right!

Her thoughts must have been plain on her face when Peter returned because he gave her his you-worry-me smile as he steadied her hand around the cup. Checked her blood pressure, then getting her medicines out. Listened to the mumbles and curses she spoke aloud to herself with growing concern he tried to hide as he tucked her in bed.

He didn't know why she stared at him in such a way. When questioned she only shook her head and pretended to start dozing off.

Peter's tall siloette hesitated at the door, the hall light outlining him.

His combed sandy hair /_/with two almost elfien ears from hell poking out_/ the only thing that didn't blur. That part of his face turned to the light resembled her own, if different nose _/large, extended, inhuman/ _he must have inherited from his father_. _The eye hidden_ /__except the one in the dark that glowed monster white_/ didn't stop her from feeling his worry.

Even his body held a blur. He was tall _/up to her waist/ _and strong. There was no goblin resembling twig-like appendages. It was just a cruel trick in her mind.

* * *

_"You'll get permenant wrinkles on your face if you stay so serious."_

_"I thought it worth seeing if it still held. Besides, it will not."_

_"Will too. And why not pick something more cheerful like, 'If these shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended. That you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear.'"_

_"Puck has charmed you with that play I see. Ego to go with that mischief."_

_"You can be most cruel, my lord, but..yeah. I just liked the Ass part.(2)"_

_True amusement the young one couldn't completely hide. His companion had read grown fey, with little success, and his friend was still learning. Those eyes of his glowed. A gloved hand covered his mouth in a mannerism picked up from his father. But like all things his mood shifted swiftly enough. The bright impish boy viewed his limited time here to be treasure in the centuries ahead: there was no time to play._

_"Thank you." No need to say for what as a gloved hand stroked the old woman's blanket._

_Sunglasses slid down to reveal a blue and brown set of eyes as he leaned towards her. A true smile on his fey face that was near identical to Jareth's. The make up that covered his natural eye-shadow already fading . Already his true appearance fading in. It was time to leave._

* * *

Derald, son of the Goblin King, young lord of the higher faeries, walked down the castle stone hall. Almost skipped down as he was want to do. His mortal disguise dissapearing the further he travelled towards the throne room where his liege-father waited. Indeed, Jareth rose from his lounging sprawl to catch Derald when his living treasure launched himself into his arms with a happy cry.

"Not disappointed, love?"

"Not a bit. I still love her lots," he said with a wide stretch of his arms. His father-King laughed, drawling it to a chuckle. Derald's long hair once more a silky thistle style, which both son and father admired in color. The brown eye and hair the only thing even remotely Sarah's upon the fey child who otherwise looked like his father.

And as he told of his adventure Above he would absentmindly play with a strand of rich chocolate bangs. Cheerfully blaming the Changling for his lastest bit of human education.

* * *

1) I got my little sister in trouble for this. An honest mistake too. I mis-learned the lyrics, so when I taught her it got concern from her teacher.

"Little bunny Foo Foo, hoping through the forest, scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head." A child song I mangled into, "scooping up the field mice and chopping off their heads."

2) Midsummer's Night Dream. One of the characters gets turned into a donkey headed sap.


	3. Future Failure

Title: **Future Failure**  
Rating: G

The OC Challenge: Write a scene involving one canon character and one original character of your own creation, any setting or situation you choose. 'Ware Mary Sues and self-insertion!

* * *

The forcefield and armed security outside his cell didn't seem to faze him much. The non-chalant posture as he sat on the single furnishing in the room, a plain cot attached to the wall, more then annoying to the officers monitoring unseen. Humming an old 19-21th Century child's rhyme according to the computer: European English/American. Eyes still closed as the door beyond his cell opened with a whoosh and we entered with his guards now flanking the brig door.

"Who are you and how'd you get here?" That silenced the humming and finger moving where they dangled from a propped up knee. From where they stood I saw one eye open to glance at us before he turned his fair thistled head to notice us. At seeing my partner beside me he smirked.

"An elf. How resourceful of you." The alien prisoner got more amused dispite the vulcan's lack of reaction.

"Answer our questions," Sulek demanded monotously as I tried to recall what an elf was. It had been ages since my language classes. The translater was set to 'basic' since we hadn't been sure if the new alien spoke anything we knew.

"Doors," the ageless man said to himself with some bemusement as he eyed the spacious quarters.

Their newest Visitor was the cause of much talk among the Station's staff. No listing as a passenger from the shuttle he stepped off from. In fact he had simple 'appeared' like he had transported, mingling with the crowd, with his white bird sitting attentively on his shoulder.

* * *

Even if the Being seemed content to stare out the observation windows she sensed his awareness, no matter how casual he lounged on the seat.

"You have no right to take someone's child. There are laws observed by the majority of sentient life," began the uniformed officer as she observed the Being, who seemed more engaged with looking out the observation windows then listening. He fit the genetic profile for a mature male terran although his style of clothes was various. Long hair thistled in a halo highlighted his pale profile, including the smirk that now tighten at her words.

"Spare me this dribble."

"By the majority of sentient life," she persisted doggedly, "in regards to their kin that involve various cultures, religions, and enviroments. We do not interfere without presented proof of danger or inability to provide basic needs to the proper authorities." By then the Being's eyes, which had been focused out, rolled. Her sharp hearing caught a sigh he didn't otherwise show. Gloved fingers tapping his forearm...and was that humming? Surely not.

Maybe a change of tactics was required. Humans were more forthcoming if they interacted: instinct for control, no matter how small.

"What proof do you have for you choice of actions?" He gave a long blink. Then a few more before turning slightly to better face her. Slowly that smirk softened as he looked long and hard at her. She understood him zeroing on her differences, like her upswept ears and sharp features. Dark brown hair cut to regulations hardly hid the features even at a glance, but he swiftly became more amused as the conversation paused. For a more evolved Being (an observation for his means of arrival on the Space Station) he behaved more like a ego-driven Man then an older race.

"So formal. I can hardly believe you're an elf at all!" An odd expression too subtle for her shifted on his face. His bi-polar moods seemed to be a natural condition.

"A shame about the hair. Short, neutral and unflattering for you. But," a quick flashing of teeth,"I have no proof for you. Only a verbal contract that made the brat mine by obligation. The mother's recant was declined." And he said it with a smug flair, clearly enjoying his reply. Uncrossed his arms to give a wide, unapologetic shrug as he shifted to face her fully.

Everything in the conference room where she sat and watched him from across the table was sparse. Sharp lines and simple colors that left no distractions. The Being standing between the table and window presented a more dramatic contrast. She was no student of terran styles but the bits of period spanned two large continents, three centuries, and different textures, that would make any movie set instantly false.

"Unacceptable."

"Whatever."

"You will return Thomas Kye Revern to Doctor Johnson," she sternly ordered, ignoring the 'No' spoken in soft steel, "or drastic actions will compell you."

There was a silence befitting the warning. While the Alliance did not use torture there were other ways of extracting the information. There were worlds of telepaths, empaths. Driven concern for the well-being of the underage hostage, child of an alliance officer, and a friend's emotional trauma.

The Being heard them all in her controlled speech. Watched her with eyes that weighed lives: she had seen such depths in her command superiors before. Stood as still as a trip wire for two mintues before he spoke.

"What's done is done. The doc failed the Labyrinth, so Tommy is mine, and that rule I can't change." Arms crossed again and his head alone turned. The smirk he now wore somehow different from the ones he had already shown.

"Your Alliance has built great cities way out here. Stars surrounding a metal maze with numberous doors. Doors! It's been ages since I've gotten to see those. It could be the ugly stepsister of the Underground. I had to see with my own eyes what had shaped our Runners now-a-days."

"Where is Thomas Kye Revern? His mother.."

"Gave up."

"..is best to his well being. She is a respected and conductive worker, who is entitled to a family."

"Stubborn elf. So rightous. Unplug your pointed ears and listen here: she abandoned the ankle-biter. Leave it done."

"We can not. You have violated over ten terran laws: three of which are high level crimes and eligiable for life without parol. You endanger a minor by denying proper care. Claiming to be Terran and there-fore under Alliance jurisdiction, but give no identification upon detainment." She was ready to list his offenses until he understood. It was a poor introduction to whatever race he represented on First Contact, and the diplomats were far more active then usual upon his discovery.

"Thomas Kye Revern's return might.."

"No."

Now the Being had turned to fully face the stars. What attraction there were on seeing the slow traffic of shuttles provided was unknown. Her human friends stated that slow movements could be calming, but they illustrated examples of water fronts and patterns. Perhaps he could not look people in the eye for durations. Many criminals held that habit. Somehow she doubted the same was true for her current prisoner.

"You would endanger a child with neglect?"

"He's not endangered. His babysitter," and why did he sound so amused, and the somber expression almost smile, as he said that, "is more then able to entertain him. The brat couldn't have better."

That changed the immediate concern, but brought up another. He had at least one accomplice that had escaped detection. Such thoughts (replanning, regroup) distracted the immediate notice as his fey mood shifted again.

"The doctor... I don't think she needs to be a mother right now. Always busy and stressed with trying to deal with a crying toddler by herself. She was blaming Tommy for her life. Or lack there-of. I've seen it so many times. Even with the tears I saw the despair. Nothing like Sarah's eyes." An angry baring of teeth morphing into a rueful-proud smile.

He ignored further questions.

* * *

**MISSION REPORT: #998323-332-SECU**

SUMMARY: Unidentifed gentic match of a Terran male was first located on the Space Station's docking level C8 at 1700 hours due to complaints. (attached reports 99-010L) Both visiters and staff voiced concern of the white animal he carried without any outward precautions to safety. Computer records classify it as an owl, extinct by 3814 A.C., although the animal disappeared before security found and detained the owner. Further witness reports (attached report 11L) described his demeanor as pleasant, curious, and 'young'. This strange endorsement prompted by his fascination with mundane technology, but expert handling of a crowd pickpocket.

Officer Teleni T'telk further added observations that he was well versed in Terran behavior, lacking only specific information to the Station enviroment.

One child (attached report 13L) was delighted in his magic tricks. She had gotten seperated from her friends earlier and was waiting on the Turent, when the unidentified male struck up a conversation. This involved basic information: including that this was his first time in space. He would later depart as she spotted a friend. There is no recording of where he went from there although various vendors, establisment workers, and down-timers at the recreation area (attached report 12L) made statements of his mingling. He is later recorded at 2100. Twenty minutes before his discovery Doctor Helen Johnson reported to authorities of a kidnapping of her young son by a Being.

BEING: a race unrecognized, or of technology unknown before, that often imitate another race's religion/myth.

He was swiftly detained for questioning as evidence of unrecognized 'magic' (attached recording 001V-008V), where he declined legal representation. He showed verbal evidence that indicated guilt to the kidnap charge but failed to provide solid proof. No recordings were conclusive.

* * *

**ADDITIONAL:**

The conversation with the child was cleaned up, zoomed, and doctored for clearer dialogue. Further information attached 014V and 19L as follows:

Once lived in Europe, England (curious as it was renamed Wales Island in 2212 AC)

Used slang not identified beyond old English.

Referred to old stories known as faerie tales (included such creatures as elves, dwarves, kitsune)

Spoke of living in a castle. (see Terran architecture)

Called himself Toby. (England Name translate to 'fox'; a creature often identified with sly/trickery/clever.)

Has a sister named Sarah, who currently lives with husband, a retired "goblin caretaker" no search results

* * *

"He's been spending too much time with you if he's thinking kids are presents."

"Now, love, no jealousy."

"Hardly. But letting him, and I quote, "research new ideas" just to get some alone time by sending him worlds away was a bit much! Even for a drama king like you, Jerath."

"...worthy of it."

"Like he didn't see thru that excuse."

"Only your kin would retaliate with pleading upon old duties."

"Good for him! Now...sing Tommy to sleep before he thinks up new distractions. Toby will crystal back soon."

"Such a pity. Your heart's request is?"

"Less talk, more singing."

"As you wish."


	4. Lessons in Stone

Title**: Lessons In Stone**  
Rating: G

Challenge #6: Descriptive Scene Challenge: Create a setting that didn't appear in the movie, but would fit with the geography and atmosphere of the Underground. Can be an actual scene or simply a paragraph description, your choice.

* * *

The stone sky was the only landmark they had. They were the true things of mountain legends, not the dwarves. Dwarves cared for the jewels, the metals, but not the stones that held them. So the duty of caring for the Labyrinth stones was their own. And even if The Goblin King was as subtle footed as a fey cat they knew where he was at all time: their unique 'gift'. They were the reason The Goblin King could so easily watch the Runners.

Sons were paired to lift the stone sky when they needed tending. And if the markings the Runner left were lasting, had made a story on the stone, they became part of their sky. Then they would venture above to turn it over. It was the daughters who polished their edges, who named the new picture as the story of their maker was told. The young ones learned all the stories to guide them. When they took to having their own sons and daughters they would turn to healing the stone walls, which moved and shifted with the force of mountains. It was the endurance of their youths working the stones that allowed them to do that.

'Here is the Wolf Skin Face. It was made by a man who dressed as a beast until he had become eaten by the dead creature. He found the ones of Creators-Of-Stone-People, so do not look to their eyes if you venture above.'

'Here is the Fang Groove. It was made by a woman who wept of a babe who had her enemies' eyes and carved with a stone edge knife. She discovered the Winged Kin's glen, so do not venture above or you will be lost.'

Each mark was tended with loving care of craftsman. The stories passed down the many generations as stone sky constellations: as fascinating to them as the stars were held by mortals. It was all they truly needed. And only those creatures who could summon the stones (May their names be remembered!) who knew more then just the elusive glimpse they graced the other Underground creatures. Only The Goblin King had a grasp of their ways for he had brought them here. He used their eyes to glimpse, through his spheres, or to know the news of his subjects, and using their location to sound his voice to them. No matter where there was stone, be it Stench Bog or Talking Stone Heads Warning, they were there.

It was their honor and joy to be so.

'Here is the Fading Red. It was made by a woman who made the stick bled on the stone.' There was no warning, no landmark, with this marking. Instead they watched it flake. Polishing these stones had hastened the loss of color. Now they left them alone to stare at with what little was left of their more human heart. The seven stones were staggered in a long distance, each the same pattern.

They only watched these imperfect markings upon their stone sky because it was all the Runner Who Solved had left in her wake. And if the Labyrinth or The Goblin King shifted when she was gone...well, change was natural here.

One youth had been a young son when She entered. His tellings of her travel had bordered on daring for he spoke also of The Goblin King. Had the recklessness of his age to plainly speak his thoughts as to the odd game The Goblin King had taken to. It was not to be done among them: they kept the other youths from him until he subsided.

In his old age he would dare to ask The Goblin King what had become of the marking's story end. The Fading Red held no warning. No conclusion. He asked with a voice recalling a youth's spirit.

"No end, you say? It -is- the ending if you had the eyes to see!" The Goblin King's long stick thrashing against a leg he'd thrown on the arm of his thrown like a fey cat's tail. Sharp eyes pinning him where he quivered: recalling The Goblin King's other shape, the owl.

"Only yours would treasure a fleeting, mortal thing. Tell me, gremlin, why you think that is? Why it moves you when rare does else?"

The old one bowed his head. He couldn't think of how to reply despite the months of thinking he had done. Downcast he sensed more then actually saw the foot of The Goblin King tap impatiently upon the floor. Thankfully none of the goblins or chickens where there or the old man would have likely been trampled...and been glad of it if it saved him from his lack now. Instead it was a great surprise to be graced with an answer. A gloved hand, fingers spread, just the tips supporting the tilted cheek of his head, as he smirked down.

"How long is your life now?"

"Nine, sire."

"Nine months then. By luck perhaps you've two more. Do you realize she wouldn't be the Runner she was by then? She'll have changed." An odd laugh as The Goblin King thankfully turned his eyes away. The old one started to take his leave, his puzzlement remaining, but The Goblin King continued. A hand suddenly holding one of his spheres.

"Everything has a balance. Even the Labyrinth stones must renew itself somehow, tended by mayfly caretakers."

Then The Goblin King became lost in thought (as far as a maze keeper's could) as he gazed upon the sphere. The boy-child within looked familiar but the old one couldn't recall where. Pushing the wisp of member triggered by the white and red stripes to leave. He would slowly make his way back below, where the sky was stone and kin lived. Would slowly find his way to the Fading Red marks to gaze up at them as he often did in the months since his youth.

His second son's third daughter found him there. With all the boldness of a two week child she climbed onto his aching lap to join his sky looking. The barest red remained above them, but he pointed out the lines of the marking as though it was freshly made as he said, "Here is the Fading Red. It was made by a woman who made the stick bled on the stone. She changed faster then the Labyrinth, so know we are no less then the stones of forever."

That was the last story he told. Two months later the grown woman mixed a paste to lovingly re-trace the fainst marking as a tribute to The Runner Who Solved and her lesson.

It would have honored Sarah to know her lipstick arrows would last for over ten years, lovingly re-traced by many looking up at the stone sky markings..


	5. Of My Own

**Title:** Of My Own

**Intended Recipient:** traboule (a secret santa)

**Prompts:** A good crossover

**Rating:** NC-15 for language

**Plot Summary/Author's Notes:** Every scene has Jareth from the eyes of those involved. A narrative challenge since everyone loves the Goblin King.

_[DM: This is a crossover between Labyrinth and the 1980's television series __"Beauty and the Beast"__ starring Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman, in case that isn't clear._

"How rare and marvelous," the Goblin King murmured aloud. The un-named infant in his other arm continued to sleep as Jareth watched the top of the four-crystal pyramid turning in his gloved hand. None of the goblins understood their King's fascination with the picture within. Usually they showed somebody's dream or watched them in live action.

Sarah Williams was conversing at her 'work Court' in one of the bottom spheres. Next to it was The Heir, a babe they'd entertained when Sarah had run the Labyrinth years ago, no longer a babe. Toby was nearly grown now. They had all watched him grow from their King's crystals. Within he was currently dreaming of seeing new lands. And the third was showing a far view of the barren lands outside the Labyrinth Gates: slowly shifting to display the Underground.

But it was the top one that held the Goblin King's attention. There was no movements. For while the other three twirled the one on centered and above stayed still.

"_'He slept and woke and slept again._(1)' " Jareth half-sung the bit of poetry as the infant he held stirred.

To see someone dreaming of sleeping .. a simple scene where a woman lay, clothed in layered white, hugging an arm of the man beside/behind her. His face tilted on the shoulder closest to her as if even asleep he watched her.

Few watched too closely. The Goblin King would banish them to the Bog Lands if they woke the baby. Even the chickens had been dismissed from the throne room because of how newly born the baby was. And no one was foolish enough to ask their fey lord why he was watching so keenly the sleeping lovers.

Jareth hummed: skipping words, or adjusting the song beat. Goblins had no interest in music. Mismatched eyes kept upon the fourth crystal although some of his attention was on the fragile being in his arm. Still, more then a few goblins suspected thier King knew whall all four showed, knew everything going on in the castle, and managed to listen in on the other things.

The Goblin King smirked. Now looking at the sleeping infant as if he knew some secret connected to it. The hum become words again.

_" 'He slept and cried and .. he slept and woke and slept again.' "_

* * *

_'This is where the wealthy and the powerful rule. It is her world, a world apart from mine. Her name is Catherine... From the moment I saw her she captured my heart with her beauty, her warmth, and her courage. I knew then as I know now, she would change my life forever... _

_He comes from a secret place far below the city streets, hiding his face from strangers, safe from hate and harm. He brought me there to save my life. And now, wherever I go he is with me in spirit... for we have a bond stronger than friendship or love. And although we cannot be together, we will never ever be apart.'_

_-Beauty and the Beast theme_

* * *

**[Vincent**

The tunnels of Below were Vincent's world. It was a place for people to leave the modern world above and disappear. Two men, Father and his best friend, had created it during the Black Listing of McCarthy as a place to live without government. There were natural caves on the outer areas less used Vincent had explored growing up down here. Miles of man-made, abandoned passages and natural caves that it would take weeks to explore. He knew the Tunnels as only one raised here for nearly three decades could.

The city of New York had built upon existing tunnels, blocked them off, and forgotten them in the decades that followed.

Vincent's large cloaked figure was often walking the tunnels that led to the Park lately. The hood covered the mane of dirty blonde hair save those that came to rest over his collar bone. Grief shrouded his steps. But even the loss didn't keep him from watching: from making sure the younger children returned safely.

They were friends. All ages that salvaged by searching or odd jobs, running errands for their parents, and still acted like children. Unlike the street kids Above these ones were loved. With many of the adults such as Father teaching them, even classical instruments when they could. There were doctors, teachers, journalists, mechanics and all other kinds of trained Helpers here to teach and support the children. A community.

Still, danger could strike even the most independent.

So tonight he waited on the other side of the bars that rested like a screen door over the correct Park Tunnel. The other tunnels misled strangers. One entrance that branched into many. Vincent waited there like a familiar gargoyle.

This near where hobo, utility workers, and teen makeouts could stumble upon them there were no messages tapping on the pipes. Father would have to send a helper if he wanted to summon Vincent back. Something he didn't wish to face right now.

Restless. Lost. Bittersweet hopes tied with grief. He had no desire to see his father's pity overlapping the 'I told you so' beneath.

Cathrine Chandler's grave was no doubt being watched by the rogue group of agents since she had been their only connection to him. Or, perhaps their child they'd stolen from her dying body was enough for them to cease chasing him, but he couldn't risk his world Below on that.

He still escaped to find a tall building where he could watch the night lights move in patterns: calming motions and heights that eased his heart a little as he imagined the child of their love. It took a will, that protective selflessness, to not go to her grave. The balcony of her apartment was also off limits. Another tenet, maybe being watched since that was where They had spotted him... so many reasons to not go there.

Where he waited he could see so many memories of her coming. Visiting as she had for two years in evening dresses, work suits, that showed from what she had stolen some time from to do so.

That shadow from the park lamps cast into the Tunnel entrance made him swiftly press the catch that put a false brick wall 'door' behind the bars. A measure that kept the curious away. But he listened. There was a soft conversation outside before it called out in a louder tone.

"Thrice I call you then." Masculine. Accented. Authority mixed with amusement. Muffled by the false wall/door between them by thirty feet. All the helpers knew how to open it, but this one stood there. He held his breath at the unfamiliar tone.

"Vincent, Jacob's son."

"Vincent, consort of Cathrine Chandler." Closer. The voice carried down the outside tunnel entrance a little clearer.

"Vincent, guardian and prince of your labyrinth."A long pause as the man outside waited as if he knew that Vincent's heart had stopped upon hearing a name no one Above should know. More horror with the other names. Father's name was forgotten save for perhaps three people. Cathrine, loved and known here and Above, followed the Below custom of not using her last name.

A few soft boot strides.

"Perhaps you would not like word of your kid, " he drawled. "Or, should I say cub? Kit?"

Vincent was suddenly past the false wall and bars. His snarl feral as he found himself standing at the tunnel's edge and glaring at the figure casually waiting in the center. The claws ached and heart raced as he growled.

"As it is then. Your consort gave the baby to my keeping .."

"NO!" Vincent denied as the very thought of the kidnapping resulting in her death made muscles shiver. "Cathrine was held hostage! And you stole our future. And why? For greed!" For a moment the pain made his throat close. Just long enough for the lone stranger to continue.

"Tish tosh. She bloody well threw the babe upon me. To steal the boy from brigands surrounded by your imitation-magics and you, love, as her champion to get him back. A shrewed, troublesome woman to be sure." And the british accented man prowled closer. Hair of fair blonde thistled above the high collar in a most un-militant style with a ripple of black cape. There was no startlement in the eyes framed by not-quite egyptian makeup as they rested on Vincent's face.

"Who are you?"

"I am the Goblin King, keeper of the Undergound Labyrinth. And I'm here to offer a trade."

A smirk on sharp features as a gloved hand held up a small, see-through ball. One that flashed as a stray light of distant park lamps: so faint it made the gleam flash like a tiny star.

* * *

**[Sarah**

After today's stressful meeting Sarah Williams was ready to stab something. Something like the dinner she needed to make. Although, given the day, take-out was better. It'd give her a chance for a hot shower before she snapped at her visiting brother.

'God help me with teenage boys,' she mental sighed as she almost slammed her briefcase on the kitchen counter. Thankfully Toby was at a friends. If she ordered out now it might still be warm when he came back.

Speed dial 4, a hand unpinning her dark hair, shoulder craddle the phone as she unbuttoned her suit coat and toed off her flat-soles with a relieved sigh. The apartment could barely handle the two siblings, but she loved it. Location was great. Rent allowed her to support themselves well enough even if she did long for a better computer.

A vastly smaller set of rooms then they'd grown up with, but New York was expensive for space. She had recalled how important it was for kids to have their own room enough to sacrifice a little by giving Toby the bigger bedroom.

With her order made Sarah set the coffee machine on. It cheerfully churned as she went to change. A cheap CD player turned on to the tunes of movie soundtracks she liked, and then ..

"Jesus!"

The Big Apple had taught Sarah to lock her door. A habit acquired over the last three years here. Self-defense clases made her tense into a fighting stance as she took in the uninvited guest sprawled on her loveseat without a care in the world. A smug, sadistic bastard she had almost convinced herself she'd made up.

"It's fucking 1996, Jareth. You can't just do this!" A second prayer of relief that Toby wasn't here. That reminded her, "You can't have Toby. I ran that damn labyrinth of yours and got him back! So stay away from us!"

Jareth didn't look impressed. In fact the fey bastard reminded her of those bland, almost bored looks at the meeting. Maybe she was Projecting her anxiety, but he looked disappointed too. Less then ten feet away with one finger tapping his thigh.

"Such language, Sarah. Take care with your words," Jareth drawled like the joke was on her. "For here there be monsters."

She couldn't help but dart glances around the room as memories of the goblins giggling in corners came back. How they'd vanished before she could clearly see them when they stole her baby brother. Feeling anger at the ease on which he rattled her.

"What are you doing here anyway?" A terrifying thought. "Did someone wish away their baby?"

"Yes."

Sarah shivered. His mismatched eyes were half-closed in thought as he looked to the leg on the loveseat arm and beyond.

"But enough of my duties. Tell me, Sarah, what part of your kingdom," there was the subtle sneer, "are you giving your brother? One equal my own I do hope."

"Your own?" The horrified catch in her throat didn't go un-noticed, although Jareth only shifted his gaze to watch her from profile.

"I gave him my name, a place as my heir, while you where stuck in the oubliette. Before Hogswart led you out."

"Its Hoggle."She barely noticed his sigh. It was more the way he turned his eyes away again. Once more a bored, bland expression. Sarah, starting to relax her fists, found herself gripping them closed again. When he lazily lifted a black glove it held a crystal and the Goblin King gave a small smirk as he peered inside.

"No matter. I'll give him a kingdom of his own to suit his duel right." She saw red as he gracefully uncurled to stand. That arragent stance had her stomping barefoot forward before she'd realized it. She was no confused teenager to be pushed around by the petty, vendictive fey she'd defeated years ago.

"Hell no are you giving him anything!"

"Oh?" That smirk. That bloody superiority. "Then you'll run another labyrinth to snare him back to this boxed life of yours?"

"YES!" _'Wait a tick.'_ "Run another..? Are you serious? Jareth!"

And the bastard laughed even as he casually tossed the crystal underhand towards her. And laughed, that lyrical laugh, as he escaped out the front door before she had finished one step. And it was panic as she barrelled out only to glimpse the white owl flap out the window.

Less then two minutes later she had put on running shoes, grabbed her purse and jacket, and grasping the crystal in hand. Fast as if a fire licked her heels she ran. She had to find her brother. Now. And the only clue was a scene of a park in the crystal. But still she had to check Kevin's, where Toby should be.

The delivery boy would find it locked and empty ten minutes later.

* * *

**[Toby**

"What?"

"You heard me, love. A gift wrapped in a blue bow." Jareth was serious in his own amused way, Toby could tell. Not that he minded babies. Lord knew Jareth often cared for them when he came to visit. Something about goblins, chickens and beer not trusted with younglings unless supervised. And over the years Toby had grown to agreement that his playmates shouldn't handle fragile things.

"You know my sister is going to kill you," he smirked back as he accepted the blanket bundle from the Goblin King. "I mean serious paranoia, iron edged knife type of killing here. Can I have front row seats?"

"Imp."

"Takes one to know one."

"Sidhe."

"Right. She." The wide smile showed how entertained Jareth continued to be with his mangling of certain words. A moment later he was laughing aloud. Toby joined a more quiet version as he gently bounced the stirring babe back to sleep.

"Well, if it lets me be both .. sure. I like New York." A thoughtful grin at the baby. "I can do that. My magic doesn't seem affected by metals like yours." A look at Jareth. "But do you have to tell Sarah? I mean, she's going to seriously damage you for 'stealing' me away. Again."

A shrug of slender shoulders was all Jareth used to convey his thoughts about that.

"She may deny everything upon the Alter of Science if she wants. A pity, but her own will to do so. I will not deny your gifts." There was a hint of steel in Jareth's tone that Toby was familiar with. The Goblin King had never been pleased in the possible future of his mortal heir. And because his sister had defeated the Labyrinth he had no right to keep Toby. Trust a Sidhe Noble to find a clever way around that ...

"Alrighty. Best of both world then." A cell phone call to Kevin to let him know he wouldn't be hanging out with him today quickly wrapped things up. A look at his watch. Settled his backpack with a flexing motion while the Goblin King summoned a crystal, which he gave once Toby was ready.

"This will lead to the Beast. Go fetch a name, an oath, and wait for us at the center. Minding manners," Jareth cautioned as he turned to leave. For the King could not cast illusion surrounded by the subway station. And despite the jeans and jacket over poet shirt he still attracted too much attention to put either at ease.

_'Oh this baby, officer? He got wished away and an elf gave him to me. Can I keep him? Yeah, right.' _

* * *

**[Vincent**

The room was a glow with various white candles scattered all about. Cozy light upon the books that covered the walls of the cozy underground library. A place for one to think comfortably as Vincent was. Here, where the advice and works of great minds beckoned if you knew where to look.

Father was going over plans with three others: the changing of tunnels, repairs, improvements. Usually he too participated, but while he kept half an ear on the soft conversation he needed to think. Agonized at the price of his son being returned. It wouldn't just be him who payed. He prefered books on philosophy to fantasy, but didn't the devil ask, "your heart's desires for your soul. You won't miss it'?

So far nobody had noticed the white owl sitting on one of the higher railings of the raised outer 'floor'. It had simply flown through and made a perch not an hour after the Goblin King had spoken with him. Somehow the bird blended with the odd statue busts, knicknacks, and furniture that littered spaces.

"Have you thought of a name for him?" the fair haired man had asked. But when he told him the Goblin King had only murmured about, "You truly need a labyrinth keeper. Freely telling can get the brat Bound." Vincent hadn't been happy at the cryptic remark. One 'touched' spiritualist was enough for the community. Although the old, black Jamaican voodoo priestess would probably love it even if it brought dire warnings.

So now to wait for the messenger to bring the two boys. Rather then surprise Father when they came he should share the news. Perhaps Father might even have advice. Waiting twenty-three minutes for the tasks planned, assigned, and everyone dispersed save Father.

Father looked pleased when Vincent came to stand at the front of the desk littered with notes, maps and yet with just enough room for more.

"I'd begun to wonder when you would show a bit of yourself," Father said in concerned hope. Putting away his reading glasses he half-leaned on the edge of the desk with arms braced behind him. "But I think I see some other.. have you found a lead?" Green eyes evaluated Vincent with a doctor's eye and parent's care that dared to hope.

The driven grief had only ebbed when Vincent searched for his child. And when nothing came of it, despair crashed back. Until tonight he hadn't known if Catherine had birthed a girl or a boy. Father had aged rapidly since Vincent had last really looked at him.

"He's been found," he managed to say. Emotion would sweep him away if he didn't hold them in tight. "Cathrine found a way to save him, Father. One bringing him back even now." Who reached to hug who neither knew. Vincent may have stood almost a foot taller but it was elderly Father who wrapped around him in joy. A few tears escaping when the two finally pulled back enough to speak. Caution for the home they loved not letting them simply accept this miracle.

"What don't I know yet?" Father asked as the one who had raised him sensed something amiss.

"There's another boy." Blue eyes reassuring Father that he knew the risks. That he would take responsibility. "He's very close already it seems. King's price was to raise them together, here."

"A strange price. And what do you know of this King? What trouble might be following this?"

Now the tricky parts. "A sister determined to find him. Toby is only sixteen and she has been caring for him since their parents died over a year ago." The Goblin King had actually stated she would brave the tunnels 'come hellfire.' "As for King ... words don't describe him well."

"Vincent.."

But at seeing his adopted son's struggle to speak he let it drop. Vincent couldn't help turning to look at the owl still watching in a light doze across the room.

"There is more to life then is dreamt of in your philosophies," he quoted softly with a tight, small grin as the joy of having his son returning touched his heart again. And even if both kept cautious thoughts the two were ready to see what changes might come. Talk shifted to other matters. Of giving the other boy Cathrine's old room, lessons, and to recall Jennifer's offer to nurse the child.

Today he was gaining two sons it seemed. A nameless youth as different in his own way, the Goblin King had hinted, as Vincent was. And Jacob Chandler, the three month year old he'd never seen before. Vincent couldn't help but imagine Catherine's pleased and loving smile of support despite the nervous ways he knew could happen.

* * *

**[Toby**

The crystal ball rolled merrily through the tunnels as mis-matched as the Labyrinth. Dark sewer tunnels. A kind that let water down a channel with narrow walkways on either side. It was so funny to see the crystal bounce down spiral stairs with soft chimes.

He couldn't help but giggle was it rolled with expert ease around the people he started to see. People dressed in layers that favored vests, shawls, and a long-sleeved shirt beneath a t-shirt. Quilted patches were as common as trademark names or sport team logos. Toby was too off-the-rack clean to really blend. Not to mention the baby he carried in a vivid green blanket.

He was grateful that Jareth had spelled the baby to sleeping for the next three hours. Of course Toby was well aware it was also a by product of another spell.

Casual greetings, more nods then words, as he made his way through the maze of cave-like caverns, dramatic gathering places, and as cozy as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle lair. When he wasn't watching for hostility or where the crystal rolled he was soaking in the sights like a tourist. 'Home sweet home, after all.' There was old pipes rattling, tapping, mixing with distant subway sounds overhead.

Toby kept walking. It was passing through an archway into a very will lighted room that made him stop. Blinking his eyes to adjust. It was no worse then leaving the shade of school and into a sunny day. Faint hum of crystal rolling to the right cheerfully called him in.

As heir of a labyrinth keeper he could Feel this was the center of the maze. And the low sound of conversation a distance in let him know the Beast was there.

_'Minding manners ... right,'_ he thought as he stopped before the few steps leading down to the ground floor of a study or library. As long as it wasn't a King Kong craving human flesh (unlikely if Jareth wanted him here) or some creepy shark-crocodile he could deal.

With that thought he focused on the two people some twenty feet away. Men. Wearing the same strange mix of clothing layers as the others he'd seen. An old man who looked like one of the nicer neighborhood grumps was hadn't noticed him: in thought until the taller one turned more towards Toby, having noticed him right off.

"You look like you got kicked off 'CATS'! " Insert foot to mouth. And from a low 'whoo' where the crystal had rolled Jareth was..who knew. Probably between proud Toby wasn't impressed or annoyed at the lack of tact. But he couldn't help it. The dude was over six feet, with a healthy blonde-brown mane of hair, and had the facial features of a teddybear-cat. Mouth with that strange crease to his nose tip.

He hurried to make up for the remark. "I mean, pleased to meet you all, sir."And he was happy when the furry cat-man, Vincent, not only excused his manners but so lovingly took the baby into his own arms. It left the older man to grill him. He even learned the baby's name.

"You and me are going to be tight, Jacob," he crowed in low tones. A glance showed him Jareth's owl form nearly asleep. If the increase of people to see the baby flocking through the library bothered the Sidhe it didn't show. And there wasn't alot of iron here to make him uncomfortable, although this form helped shield the effects. No, the Goblin King was just waiting until Toby's sister swept through.

He had front row seats when the alarm of an intruder was reported to Father and Vincent.

* * *

**[Sarah**

Five hours.

Kevin had been confused when she'd arrived at his parent's place. He had never seen her less then immanculate, even in casual attire. So a breathless Sarah with work skirt and blouse, running shoes and shabby wool coat, was an odd sight. She didn't remember the abrupt social cliche lines she'd used as she'd darted away.

But that bloody clear ball of Jareth's somehow started drifting away. A walker's pace if floated. Like a bubble that found air currents that let it stay out of reach. Faithfully it guided her to a manhole swamped with cars, where it drifted down and popped.

The bastard wanted her to do a sewer trip? A test to see if she'd do it? Or if she could? New York streets were filled with reckless taxis who'd more likely hit her then slow down.

Five hours since that poppycocked rat bastard had shown. Smell, thankfully, was the first sense to numb. And considering she hadn't brought a flashlight it was for the best. It crowded with memories of the Bog of Stench at times. But it also showed her an entrance she might have otherwised missed. So faint that starlight would have hidden its telling crack.

Her luck had held though. She had been discovered by four teens, or rather been discovered by them as they came behind her a few minutes later. They were on their way back home. And at her skillful misdirection she managed to keep them company: returning from her own trip as it were.

That had lasted until they realized she'd never been down here before. Then they got antsy.

"We'll take her to Father," Sam announced with a hand on her wrist. Amanda took out a screwdriver and smacked the lead pipes running along the walls. The youngest, Tim, was told to take their stuff to dad and Nathan to get Sarah's other arm. "Nobody comes down here without Father's okay," he explained.

All Sarah could think was the boy either had a high-ranked father or was part of a cult. The terror her brother might be in the control of a con in hiding almost made her start shouting. But Sarah Williams had faced down a Goblin King in his own castle, a sadistic supervisor of six months, and the local gang war only two blocks from home. No way was she going to lose it now.

The journey still felt like forever. Hustled her quickly to escape some of the fault her being here held over them. They didn't get to Father. As the four went down one of many halls someone came out, backlit by the light behind him. A familiar silhouette in a white feathered cape.

Jareth, who was freaking out Sam, Amanda and Nathan, with that smug smirk of his. Who simply said, "Not quite a proper Run, isn't this your own Kingdom after all." It wasn't even a question. And then the Goblin King turned and walked back in even as another familiar, and far more wanted, person raced past him.

"Knew you'd make it before dark," Toby cried as he glomped her. "Just don't kill him yet. I know you two don't get along, but this is for me. Not to mention Jacob and Vincent!"

------

Vincent was a wonder. His son, Jacob, a darling if loud baby. The candle lights fit so well upon Vincent and Jareth. Most of the other people were gathered around father and son with wary eyes upon her. That didn't stop her from cornering Jareth the moment she had a chance.

"You double-crossing fairie!" Jareth raised an eyebrow at that. "You have no right to go anywhere near Toby. My kingdom is as great, and all. I won him back by your own rules! So what in hell are you doing this for?"

"He is as much mine as yours.""Like hell he is!" Her temper was rising. While rare she had learned it went in stages. Right now she was past slapping and building up to a full assault. It made her tremble where she stood.

"I gave him my name. That makes him as close as blood kin, Sarah. Shall I put forth the obligation of that?" Jareth prowled close to and then around her. "He will have Talent stronger then you had while a younger maiden. Not a child to be _drugged_ because he didn't fit another's mold. To be as fit as a kelpie to a plow(s) by expecting him to be as others! I had to provide lessons for his Talent before he harmed all around. All because you had no time! Because a silly girl grew up in a sulk about magic.

"And Sarah, you called him a prince in jest and forgot the words have Power. I could only do so much thanks to your mistakes." There was a stillness around the two, as if the world had created a pocket in time around them.

"What," growled Sarah, "did you do to him?"

"I can no more keep him then you can contain him. You made it impossible."

"JARETH.."

"Is this not _your Kingdom?_ Your precious land. A labyrinth of Man, neatly given to a changling, who had a wished away son. I have Bound the son to Toby. A grown man by your religion that can govern as he wishes."

* * *

**[Toby**

He knew it would get ugly fast. His sister was a powder keg when it came to 'dreaming his life away'. And Jareth had told of how they'd met years ago, from views that were colored by his own fey moods. It looked like he was enjoying their verbal fight tonight though. The silence spell was working like, well, a charm.

In fact, he was down right poking her buttons. No pushing. Just poke poke poking them.

He left the two at it to get closer to crying Jacob, currently in the arms of an almost pretty woman. After all the rugrat was going to be his shadow growing up. It could only be done with younger children, Jareth had taught him, to imprint them to another the way a child natural did with their mothers. A useful spell for Sidhe who rarely had their own kid.

Besides, it gave him a connection to Vincent and the Tunnels. And in exchange for this piece of land he would guard them with the magics he had. Ones that would hide both the changeling blooded and their Helpers. A fair enough deal. Now he was still able to visit his sister, still age if at a slightly slower pace, and not be so deeply indebted to Jareth. The Sidhe had even created a portal in a reclusive area called the Whispering Hall that would connect Below with the Underground.

Marriage, kids of his own ... he could still have it all. Not to mention a little brother to tease. Thankfully the brat looked as human as the rest of them. A rugrat with claws? Ouch.

And with that merry thought Toby found one of the chairs to sprawl on. Shrugged off his backpack to grab his homework for tomorrow. He had a required reading of chapters 1-4 of 'The Red Badge of Courage' to get through. A small humming as he made himself focus, a yawn muffled by one hand in a gesture taken from Jareth, and found that martyred boredom of all teenagers doing it.

Sigh. Adults..

1) _'Portrait of a Baby'_ by Stephen Vincent Benét 2) Kelpie are water horses: tricking people onto their backs and drowning them in the nearest waters.


End file.
